LENS

Through this heinous

Magnifying glass

The sights I see are amplified

See?

Vehicular manslaughter becomes

VEHICULAR HOLOCAUST

The sighs I heave

Are gusts in the breeze

Of the breaths that I breathe

Escaping unseen

Boobing and weaving,

Sobbing then leaving

They rush in abundance from

My torn and tattered lungs

Ghosts of some love

Tried and True are the thoughts sung above

In the temples

Of my Sacred skull

I’m out of control.

Please forget my fingers

And the things that they create

They are so much less than great (My fingers)

Too bad it’s too late

To encompass the hate

I feel for these digits.

And they are so much less than great

(The things I create)

You’re just peering

Through the wrong lens.